It’s another Half-Nekkid Thursday already. I was trying to take a decent photo of one of my scars. But the funny thing is, my skin just doesn’t really scar that much. I’m trying to find scars that photograph well and most of them are too flat and faded to show up in a photo. Two […]
It’s another Half-Nekkid Thursday already.
I was trying to take a decent photo of one of my scars. But the funny thing is, my skin just doesn’t really scar that much. I’m trying to find scars that photograph well and most of them are too flat and faded to show up in a photo.
Two knee surgeries and I can’t find a mark from them.
A wicked slash across my face that I used to say was from a knife, but was actually a cat scratch, and you can barely see it. It used to look like a dueling scar, from right next to my left eye all the way down to the side of my mouth. Almost all gone now, but boy was it cool when I was ninteen.
The time I almost cut off my fingertip with my first pocketknife, only the barest white line.
Even the slash across my knuckle from last july when I was home alone and and hacked my hand when I was sharpening my favorite knife is faded to almost nothing.
The one I was going to post is on my foot, and I can just see it, but it doesn’t show up in the pic below, so all you get is a little bit of furry hobbit foot with no visible scar. Yet, trust me, the scar’s there and there’s a story worth telling.